


Birds on trains

by drinkginandkerosene



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Chance Meetings, Drabble, Gen, Not Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:13:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkginandkerosene/pseuds/drinkginandkerosene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an angel on Jehan's train. Shame he's annoying as hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birds on trains

“Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to actually be loved.”

And sometimes I wonder why I even bother.

I glanced over at the entirely too skinny boy and shifted my body that extra inch away. It mattered that little gap. He knew it too and sighed incredibly deeply, like his lungs had been holding back repressed air and could no longer help but expel it.

God, I needed nicotine. And caffeine. Any quick fix really. That was always me. I wouldn’t sleep, I’d just drink coffee. Who needed healthy long term solutions?

I snuck a glance at the boy. I call him a boy, I suppose he was a man. He had bird like bones though, translucent skin, revealing blue veins, twisting up his arms like ivy. I wondered if he was royalty before remembering half slept through science lessons and oxidation. He had the very beginnings of stubble and my hands itched to take a razor to it. Cut him clean. As if reading my thoughts, he ran a hand over the short hair there. He offered a rueful smile. An apology. I averted my eyes again, crossed my legs, in that prim, closed manner. 

“I don’t mean in any sexual way. I mean in a getting butterflies, warm fuzzy feeling, chills, the whole shabang.”

Trust me to sit next to the oversharer on the train. I, myself was a undersharer. See all, speak none. Trust is but an illusion. But there was something about public transport wasn’t there? Meeting a stranger you’ll never see again sometimes brings out the therapist or the patient in people.

I was still on pondering why I had thought of him as a boy.

“Oh well. A person can live without love so I hear.”

“But what kind of life is that?” The words had tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them and I cursed myself. I’d given him an audience, admitted a connection. Now the floodgates would open. The horse would bolt. The stable door was… Lying in pieces.

He was already leaning forward, elbows to knees, eyebrow furrowed in intense thought. I almost wanted to reach out and iron the crease. But that doesn’t take away the thought, and if thought was a disease, frowns are symptoms.

“A pain free life. An easy life. A simple life.” I guess this is a conversation now. 

“I repeat my earlier statement.” He raised an eyebrow. I hated people when did that. It implied a million things without stating a single one.

“Are you on of these revel in the all encompassing chaos types?” I flushed red, fully aware I was defiantly guilty of that label.

“Are you on of these bulletproof heart types? Untouchable? Unbothered by earthly matters?” He seemed taken aback at my sudden attack, and it was he that added another inch of space. The void grew larger. I wanted to rip it open, fill it with matter and noise. My hand itched again, but this time to cup his face, to make him understand, to make him

see.

 

“No. I like to play it safe.” Cliche.

“If you play it safe, you shouldn’t play at all.” I stood up, swinging my backpack onto my shoulders. He watched me rise and he had bird’s eyes as well, black and quick. I stepped off onto the platform, smelling that underground train musk smell I really loved. It reminded me of warm libraries and dry piles of leaves, with just the hint of something dangerous. I minded the gap. The slightly chilled air hit me and I glanced back at the fast departing train. I didn’t see him, unlike in the movies where we surely would have shared one last, lingering look.

But this wasn’t the movies and life moved too fast to linger on angels on trains.


End file.
